


Freedom To Fly

by kuonji



Series: Never Too Late [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, DCU, DCU (Animated)
Genre: Episode Related, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 06:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3109475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuonji/pseuds/kuonji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"This is for your own good."  His expression didn't even change.  Dick hated that.  Hated it when Bruce stonewalled him, like he was one of the scumbags they picked up.<br/>"Oh, for my own good?" he mimicked in a deep, gravelly voice, being snotty on purpose.  If Bruce wanted to act like a parent all of a sudden, Dick had no problems acting like a kid.</i>
</p><p>After the event's in "Robin's Reckoning", Bruce has <i>ideas</i> about what Dick should be doing with his life.  Dick believes otherwise.  Meanwhile, Tony Zucco is having some ideas of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freedom To Fly

" _Bruce Wayne. Gotham City's very own enigmatic billionaire. His philanthropic activities are well-known, I'm sure, and yet, one unpublicized act must stand out above the rest. Nine years ago, Tony Zucco murdered the star high-flying couple of Haly's Circus at a benefit performance funded by Wayne Charities. This left their ten-year-old son, Richard Grayson, an orphan. The boy, as a material witness in the Zucco case, was destined for witness protection and very possibly a lonely upbringing in a stranger's home before Bruce Wayne offered to take him in as his ward..."_

"Shut your piehole, you stupid bitch!" Tony Zucco, aka Billy Marin, aka Simon Dirks, aka Sid the Squid, aka Killer Coburn, aka Punky Lesh, threw his towel at the TV, obscuring the smiling shiny-toothed female reporter for a second. He wished he had a more substantial missile. He looked around and cringed slightly when he realized that the other occupants of the gym, dressed in jail sweats like he was, were glaring at him in silent threat. Just what he needed -- all the tough guys here knowing he'd orphaned some innocent little kid.

Only he wasn't so innocent, was he? He'd tracked Tony down back then -- and not just to talk. He'd been a stupid little brat, but Tony had seen the hate in those eyes. Maybe he'd been the one to lead the Batman to him, gave him some sob story, causing that cowled freak to chase him down for nine long years. That was the only reason Tony could think of, anyway, why the batfreak had been so deadset on busting him. Guess even the Bat took charity cases. All that time Tony had lived in fear for his life... it was all this kid's fault. How old would he be now, anyway? Eighteen? Nineteen?

_"Dick Grayson, now a freshman at Gotham State University, was not available for an interview. However, he was kind enough to send us a statement expressing relief that the man responsible for the death of his parents is now finally behind bars. Says Mr. Grayson, 'I think I share a feeling of pride with all the good citizens of Gotham City today that our fine police force has brought a dangerous criminal to justice.' Well, Mr. Grayson, I for one am glad that your long wait for justice is finally over."_

Long wait for justice? Ha! What did they know, anyway? He was the one who'd have to spend the rest of his life in this rotten place, eating rotten food, watching rotten TV, maybe getting his throat slit by the next rotten young punk who-- Hang on. Tony stumbled on the treadmill he was using, staggered, then fell hard on his ass behind the machine. The other prisoners around him laughed, but he didn't care.

His mind was spinning, because suddenly he knew.

He _knew_.

***

The heavyset man howled as Robin slammed a punch into his jaw that sent him flying. He groaned on the ground, but a tell-tale movement alerted Robin to his intentions, and, his reflexes honed by years of training, he delievered a numbing kick to the thug's right elbow, disarming him without a second thought. The man yelped and cradled his injury.

"Leave me alone!" he quavered, not half as tough as he had been to start. Robin was almost disappointed. He hadn't even broken a sweat.

"Finishing up your warmup, Robin?" a familiar, rumbling voice inquired.

"Just about," Robin replied, not letting his eyes leave the thug's face. He knelt swiftly at the man's side, allowing his sharply contrasted black and yellow cape to flutter around him like the wings of the bird he was named for.

_"Be dramatic, son. They're here to see a show, so give them one."_

That's what his father had always told him. He'd used to wonder a lot about how his father and Bruce might have gotten along if they'd been able to meet. No, scratch that. His father would have hated the philandering, self-centered playboy on sight. Batman, though. The patriarch of the Flying Graysons might have appreciated the Dark Knight in the way only true showmen could.

A part of the ache of longing was still there as he thought about his dad. He didn't think that would ever go away. But remembering the good times now no longer made him feel guilty. Every time he'd thought about his parents the last nine years, he'd followed by wondering where that slime Zucco had gone and when he would finally get him. Now he had an answer. He knew exactly where Zucco was, and where he was going to be for a good long time. Zucco's trial had ended today, and it'd been guilty across the board. He was finally at peace. No, not just at peace. He was _exuberant_.

"Give us Hook McCoy," he demanded, taking hold of the thug's shirtfront and leaning in close.

The thug shook his head frantically. "I don't know! I told you! I don't know anything!"

"You'd better give him what he wants," Batman commented dryly, playing along. He was a still, black swath of darkness, seeming to fade in and out of sight in the shadows of the alley. "I think he's feeling... frisky tonight."

Robin smirked but kept silent. He watched as the thug shivered. After years of working the streets with Batman, he could easily note the stages of mounting terror: from defiance, to bravado, to wavering, to finally--

"All right, I'll tell you! Please, don't hurt me."

Gotcha.

***

_"I've waited a long time."_

That's what the boy freak had said. Robin. Only that didn't make any sense at all. Why the heck would he care about a low-level mobster like Tony? Even the police had their sights set on other fish.

Grayson, on the other hand. For him, it'd be revenge. Tony should have recognized those eyes, but he'd been too focused on nailing the Batman, and then when he'd thought he was going to die, he'd been too scared to think clearly. The little brat had grown up, hadn't he? Never got rid of the tights, it looked like. And now he ran around with the Batman, raising trouble for guys like Tony.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that 'Dick Grayson' would be none too pleased to have his cover blown. It took everything Tony had not to start shouting the secret around. He knew a lot of the guys in here were here because of the Batman and his colorful sidekick. But this was one card Tony was determined to play right. He didn't want to reveal Robin; that would do him no good. He wanted out of here, and he wasn't going to screw up his one good chance at it. Little Dick was the key.

Grayson's sugar daddy, Bruce Wayne, was stinking rich. Nobody got that much money honestly. He had to have some pull with the government. He could get Tony's case dismissed or at least a cushy bargain. Maybe he could even spare some travelling money. Say, a quarter of a mil? And if 'Robin' was so tight with the Batman, he could get that freak off his back, too.

Yeah, exactly like his loaded craps tables, Tony just had to play it right, and he was sure to win.

***

Robin whistled as he picked up a replacement cable, neatly coiled and ready to load. He'd used the last one to tie up Jonny 'The Hook' McCoy before they deposited the loan shark and extortionist at the Gotham PD's doorstep.

"You're in a good mood today."

He looked up. Batman was checking his own equipment before carefully securing each piece. Robin started doing the same. "I guess I am."

"Don't get careless, Robin."

Robin paused in the middle of hanging up his cape, surprised. Batman was sometimes dismissive and often uncommunicative, but he hadn't been truly patronizing to him in a long time. Not since he'd proved himself as a little kid. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We've had a good run lately. And you did a good job with Zucco."

"You mean when I arrived just in time to save your neck?" he retorted.

Batman continued as if he hadn't spoken: "But don't let that go to your head. Zucco's small fry. It's still a dangerous world out there."

"I know that." He'd faced down the likes of the Joker and the Scarecrow with Batman. It wasn't as if this were news to him.

"What we do is serious, with real consequences. You can't keep treating it like some game. I've let you play for too long already. I thought you would have burned off your energy by now, but you're still pushing. When are you going to settle back down?"

All right, that was it. "Why are you treating me like a child all of a sudden?"

"Because you're acting like one!" Batman pulled off his cowl, and his grim, threatening visage paired with Bruce's face gave Robin a moment of disconcertment.

He stared at his... what? Mentor? Foster father? Friend? Partner? All of the above, but at the same time none. Even after all these years, Batman -- Bruce -- didn't really let Dick get close to him.

Deliberately, he turned his back as he finished ditching his own costume in the pile for the wash and reached for his house clothes. "Lighten up, Bruce. Just because you're incapable of getting any enjoyment out of life doesn't mean you have to make sure I don't either." He yanked his shirt over his head and realized that Bruce hadn't gotten dressed yet. He looked weirdly naked, wearing his costume but without belt, weapons, or the cape and cowl.

He strode past the other man with purposeful strides. "I'm going ahead. I'm starved for some of Alfred's chicken and cucumber sandwiches." He paused for a beat. "I'm sure Alfred will see me off tomorrow. Don't get up."

"Dick, don't walk away from me."

Ignoring the command, he darted into the elevator and stabbed at the up button before Bruce could follow. Once alone, he huffed a laugh at the rare expression of disbelieving fury he'd glimpsed on Bruce's face.

***

The main problem was delivering the threat to Grayson. Tony wasn't exactly the most high-level resident of the Gotham Jail, but his mail was still checked before it was allowed out. Plus, no matter what he wrote, it'd look suspicious for him to be writing the son of the people he'd gotten killed.

What had that news report said? The kid was going to Gotham U. One of Tony's guys had used to work there as an electrician, before he was kicked out for stealing stuff from the labs. He might know somebody who would deliver a letter for a little cash and not ask questions. Tony would tell them he was writing an old friend. Stupid cops couldn't stop him doing that.

He'd be out of here by next week.

***

Dick threw himself down into his chair and glared at the papers spread over his desk. Brushing back his shower-damp hair with one hand, he flipped open his school binder with the other. It was filled with his homework, none of it even started. He picked up the book for his writing assignment in English but slapped it down again a second later, restless.

His nights as Robin always screwed up his time sense. When he was little, the entire circus had slept until late morning and then worked from afternoon until well into the night. It wasn't a big deal when that was just what you did all the time. Now, he had school during the semester, and then was back on 'patrol' schedule during breaks and weekends when he came home. He could handle it, but it made him jittery.

Opening the middle drawer of his desk, he touched the edge of the old frame that held the photograph of himself with his parents. For years, it'd been right next to his bed on his nightstand, with a second copy on his dorm dresser. After they'd nabbed Zucco, he'd put it away as a symbolic gesture.

_"Does the hurt ever go away?"_

_"I wish I could say, yes. But it will get better in time -- for you. That, I promise."_

He slammed a fist on the top of the desk. Calming himself, he closed the drawer gently. Then he stood and angrily began packing all his schoolwork away. Everybody skipped nine AM English, and Geography wasn't until eleven anyway. He'd work on this stuff later.

Burn off his energy, Batman had said. Play? That's what he thought he was 'letting' Dick do? Why couldn't he just admit that he needed help like any other mortal?

Batman had had to lean on him to get out of the Batmobile by the time they'd gotten home that night, and Alfred had fussed over his injury, insisting that he call a physical therapist in the morning. Dick had gone back to school soon after, and midterms had kept him away the weekend following, but he knew that it'd taken the better part of a month for Bruce's knee to heal enough for him to go out again.

Alfred had performed surveillance in the interim, keeping Gotham's underworld wary by making Batman's presence known. Dick had experienced the ominous hum of the Batjet firsthand, back before he'd known who the man inside was, and he knew the power that had. It'd felt like an otherworldly specter hanging over them with the heavy hammer of punishment ready.

But Batman wasn't invincible. That was for sure. Even this week, he'd still mostly hung back while Robin did the heavy lifting. And now he was turning that around on him, making it sound like Dick was fooling around for no reason.

A knock made him look up. Not Alfred's diffident query but an announcement. Bruce did the oblivious act in public, but at Wayne Manor, he was 'on' as Batman most of the time.

"Yeah, what?" Dick snapped. It was beyond the realm of possibility to hope for an apology, but maybe Bruce had some excuses to make, which was the closest he ever got.

The door opened, and Bruce came in, holding a sheaf of colorful, glossy pamphlets.

"I want you to look through these," he said, handing them over. He made no mention of their prior 'conversation' down below. "I've been thinking about this since you went to college, actually. Now that Zucco is out of the way..."

Dick sorted through the pamphlets, growing angrier by the second. "What is this?" he demanded, thrusting them back to smack Bruce's chest when the man made no move to take them. Dick let go anyway. Pictures of college campuses and camera-happy students drifted to the floor.

"Gotham University is a good school, but it's not top-tier. You could do better."

"Have you seen my grades?" Dick scoffed. "No, I'm happy where I am. I don't need you pulling strings for me, thanks." He knew the real reason for this, though. There wasn't a single school there that was less than a day's flight from Gotham. It'd be hard to be Robin on jet lag.

"This is for your own good." His expression didn't even change. Dick hated that. _Hated_ it when Bruce stonewalled him, like he was one of the scumbags they picked up.

"Oh, for my own good?" he mimicked in a deep, gravelly voice, being snotty on purpose. If Bruce wanted to act like a parent all of a sudden, Dick had no problems acting like a kid.

He hadn't done the teenager thing for the most part, too high all the time on putting away criminals and training to do the same. Besides, the Batcycle had finally gone through final designs and entered the first prototype stage when he was in high school. Heck, who had time to get properly rebellious when you were blazing through Gotham at night at a hundred over the speed limit? Obviously, he had some catching up to do.

"Yes," Bruce answered, completely ignoring the sarcasm.

"So that's it? The almighty Batman has spoken, amen?"

This time, Bruce frowned. "You know better than to talk about _that_ here."

Unbelievable.

"Yeah?" he retorted, putting every last bit of scorn into his voice. "So what are you going to do about it? Hang me by my ankles until I do what you say?" He gestured toward the tall french doors, which opened out onto a third-floor balcony tiled in rich terra cotta. Rupert Thorne's balconies were lined with marble. The Penguin's were slate. He was in a position to know, having spent hours of his life surveiling them, and occasionally battling bad guys on them. And now Bruce wanted him to throw all that away? He just didn't get it.

Bruce's eyes narrowed, but he didn't respond. "The current chancellor at Stanford was a friend of my father's before he moved out west. I've spoken to him, and he says he would be more than glad to accept your transfer. They have a great business program."

"Business?" Dick stared at him in disbelief. He was still undecided on his major, but he had been leaning toward sports medicine. If there was one thing that his entire life had taught him, it was how important it was to take care of your body. He'd had some idea of sharing his knowledge with others.

Bruce seemed to falter slightly for the first time. "I've never asked to adopt you." _What?_ "I know you'll always be a Grayson... but WayneTech Enterprises will need to go to somebody, and I'd prefer it was run by someone I trust."

That moment of vulnerability had mollified Dick somewhat -- but this blew that all away in a heartbeat. "Oh, I get it now," he realized out loud. "You want me to hold down the office so you'll have more time to do the cape and cowl thing."

"You'll need something to do after you get out of school. WayneTech has a lot of opportunities, and you can have the pick of them. In the meantime, you can travel. Study abroad. Anything you want."

"I _want_ to stay right where I am, doing what I've been doing. You can't just make decisions for me like this."

"Last time I checked, you're still my ward."

"That doesn't mean anything anymore. In case you haven't noticed, I'm almost nineteen."

"You're still my responsibility."

"I thought I was your _partner_."

"Batman works alone." He seemed to recognize that he'd gone too far, because his jaw unclenched slightly and his voice was more like Bruce and less like the dark knight when next he spoke. "I just want you to have a normal life. Why can't you understand that?"

"A normal life," Dick scoffed. "I've never _been_ normal. I wouldn't know how to be."

"Good time to start trying, then."

"You can't be serious. I've been flying since I was three years old. My best friend growing up was an elephant. Running some corporation? _That's_ abnormal for me."

"You could stop putting your life in danger, at least. Put more time into school. Sports. Wait a couple of years for people to forget about Robin, and you can join the gymnastics team like you wanted."

"When I was _eleven_ and homesick, you mean? I chose being Robin over the team even then, and I've never regretted it."

"You can't do that the rest of your life."

"No, I figure, one day I'll take over your job."

He'd been overtly flippant just to provoke Bruce, but the other man's reaction was incendiary. " _No!_ "

Dick startled, then scowled, irritated at himself. "Possessive, much?" he needled.

Bruce growled something indistinct. He unclenched his fists with visible effort. "I don't want this life for you. It's not worth it, Dick. I should know."

He couldn't stand it, all the stoic posturing. As if Bruce were the only person in the world to ever know pain. He got close enough to poke Bruce's chest with one finger. The man gave him a stern glare for that, but he just returned it right back.

"Zucco is going to spend the rest of his life in a prison cell," he stated flatly. "Don't tell me that wasn't _worth it_."

Standing less than a yard away, he was very conscious of how he only reached Bruce's chin. His dad, who had seemed as tall as Carl the clown on his stilts when Dick was little, had probably been about the same height. Acrobats hardly ever got real tall if they started training young. That had never bothered Dick any. He was proud of what he was.

And being Robin was as much part of him now as being part of the Flying Graysons had ever been.

"I'm not saying that. But we-- you got him, Dick. You're free now. You don't have to be mixed up in this anymore. It's my burden to bear. The consequences should be mine alone. Some day, the Joker or somebody else is going to make a trap I can't get out of. Or maybe some punk will just get lucky with a baseball bat. And it'll be over. Have you ever thought about that seriously?"

"Sure. And in case you forgot, my job is to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Your job is to be a regular kid."

"Sorry, Bruce. No can do."

"You know I can't stop what I do. But you're different. I should have seen that earlier. It was irresponsible of me to encourage you to start doing this in the first place."

"It's a little late to be thinking about that now, isn't it?" Of _course_ it'd been irresponsible. Crazy, even. Dick wasn't stupid. You didn't take a regular ten-year-old and teach him how to get himself out of a strait jacket underwater, or how to break into a building without getting caught, or how to bag bank robbers and racketeers with nothing but a fistful of ninja stars and a grappling gun.

But he'd been no regular kid. The way he'd been right after his parents were murdered, he would've gone crazy himself if it hadn't been for the promise -- the _purpose_ \-- Batman had given him by offering to train him as Robin. And without the distractions and the rules that had come along with the suit, he would've gone after Zucco again, the first chance he got. Nine years later, he could appreciate how absolutely dead he would have been as a kid going up against even a minor mobster like Zucco alone.

And another thing. His classmates had always commented on how laid-back he was, how relaxed and confident and generous, how he was able to see the humor in everything. Guess what things he _wouldn't_ be if he didn't also get to pound the trash of Gotham at night? So Bruce could just stuff it if he thought cutting Dick out of the deal was the answer.

"It's never too late to fix a mistake."

"Is that what you think I am? A 'mistake'?" Bruce didn't say anything. Dick clenched his fists. "How about everything we've done out there? What happened to keeping Gotham safe together?"

Bruce sighed. Getting down, he started gathering the fallen college brochures and leaflets. Dick didn't help him.

"It _was_ a mistake," Bruce said, placing the stack neatly on Dick's desk. "All of it. I should never have even brought you home."

That hurt more than Dick would have thought. Hurt somewhere deep in the foundations of his life like a gut wound. He tried to laugh it away. "Yeah. Save you a bundle on the grocery bills alone." Bruce didn't react, which hurt all the more.

"Just think about what I said, all right?"

Caught between equal urges to yell at and to ignore his insufferable 'guardian', he let Bruce walk away, closing the door definitively behind himself.

***

The door clattered open, and Tony quickly crumpled the beginnings of the note he'd been writing to his man, Bruno.

"Hey, Tony!" the guard called. "A roommate for you. Play nice."

A squat, muscular man stepped inside, carrying his new outfit courtesy of the City of Gotham. "Well, if it ain't dear ol' Punky," said a raspy voice that Tony remembered from his past.

"Jonny? Jonny McCoy, how are you?" He tried to insert joviality into his voice, but he could feel his heart starting to pound. Of all the stupendously bad luck! Word was, McCoy had earned quite a name for himself in recent years. He was known for being violent and bull-headed -- and those were supposed to be his better qualities. Tony had been avoiding him since he got back.

He pretended to casual disregard, although he did step back a tiny half step.

"Imagine my... _joy_ when I heard you were back in town," Jonny said, never removing his dark gaze from Tony's face. He dumped his clothes on the bottom bunk, then leaned against the bedpost. "Too bad about your trial, huh? I'm guessing you'll get the heaviest sentence the judge can give ya. Killing a kid's parents and then threatening the kid? Oh, that's low, Tony. Almost as low as making off with a guy's hard-earned cash, don't you think?"

Tony swallowed.

***

The first thing he did was to snatch up the pile of pamphlets and dump them in the trash can next to his desk.

Then, fuming, he pulled out his copy of _The Tempest_. After scrawling out the world's crappiest essay on how Miranda's dependence on her father defined their relationship (ha!), he thought he'd mostly cooled down.

He opened his desk drawer again and stared at the framed photograph for a long while without touching it. Finally, he took the photograph back out and replaced it where it'd used to be, next to the other one of himself and Bruce, taken a couple of years after he'd moved into Wayne Manor. He ran his eyes over first one photo, then the other.

His mom had always said that the circus was like a big extended family. People didn't always get along, but in the end, you had to trust each other. Trust that despite what was said or done in the moment, you cared about each other -- and sometimes did things _because_ you cared.

_"I couldn't stand the thought that he might take you, too."_

Sighing, he stood up and left his room.

Bruce's bedroom was one floor up on the same wing. The door to his connected study was one door down.

He knocked. There was a long silence. No way was Bruce asleep, though. Playboy Bruce Wayne was famous for not taking any appointments before eleven o' clock in the morning. Most people didn't know that was because his late nights stretched long after evening galas and the upper-crust's version of club crawls.

"It's open," came the terse answer.

Bruce was in his pajamas and a robe, looking over a file folder of paperwork at his desk. Here, aboveground, it was probably work-related. The room was dim except for a single lamp spotlighting the desk.

Back when they'd first started this partner thing, Bruce had told him that Batman worked in the shadows. With all the skulking and pouncing out of corners and rooftops they did, that had seemed to make sense. Dick knew better now. He'd spent most of his younger life training hard and waiting in the dark wings behind dusty tent flaps -- all for those glorious few minutes under the brightest light there was.

Batman might do his prep work in the dark, but when show time came, he always made sure he was the star of the center act.

Dick smiled, feeling suddenly... fond. He wasn't used to the feeling as applied to the man who'd taken him in all those years ago. Awe, yes, especially at first. Admiration. Gratitude. Irritation, as he got to know Bruce better. Camaraderie, sometimes. Exasperation, often. 'Fondness' required a bit of a step back from the man -- and a bit of a step above -- to achieve.

"Well?" Bruce closed the folder and speared him with a serious look. Good thing Dick had grown out of being intimidated by those by the time he was about fourteen.

"I've thought about it. I'm not leaving Gotham."

Bruce sighed but didn't argue. Dick growing up in the Manor hadn't been a one-way street. Bruce had learned to read the signs when Dick wasn't going to budge on a matter.

"I'll pick up a business minor, though. Maybe help out at the office over the summer." It _was_ a good idea to have a lucrative career path ready. Jet fuel and replacement jump lines didn't come cheap.

The compromise seemed to unbalance Bruce. "That's... good," he said, carefully.

"The other thing... I'm not giving that up either. Bruce, it's not your burden alone." Dick huffed. "In fact, why does it have to be a burden at all?"

The grim set of Bruce's jaw returned. "What would you rather it be? A game?"

"No." It wasn't, of course. What they did was dirty, sweaty, and dangerous. But it was beautiful, too. Fulfilling. _Exciting_. It was flying without a net, times ten.

Navigating the rooftops and back alleys of Gotham exercised skills that Dick would never even have dreamed of back at Haly's. Swinging on the trapeze in the big top dimmed in comparison to the freedom of sweeping between hundred story buildings with the night wind whistling past. Out there, his spotlight was the moon, his fanfare was the whine of thrusters and the outcries of his prey, and his audience was the ten million citizens who got to sleep safely at night thanks to him.

Bruce might call that 'playing', but Dick had been wearing a cape and tights long before he became Robin. This was one area where he had more experience than Bruce did. "You know what your problem is, Bruce? You do the job every night, but you just don't _get_ it."

"What are you talking about?"

Dick approached the desk, entering the light cast by the overhead spot. He spread his arms wide. "Bruce! We climb buildings and fight bad guys and roar around the city in a car with _jets_. We have motorcycles that can practically drive straight up a _wall_ , and there's a bazillion dollars' worth of other gadgets strapped all over us when we go out. Last night, I cut a hole in a steel door using something that looks roughly like a ball-point pen. Do you ever stop for just one moment and think about how _cool_ all that is?"

Predictably, Bruce frowned. "All those 'gadgets' are supposed to keep us alive."

"Oh, yeah? Then why are they shaped like bats? Why do you have to approve all the custom paint jobs? Why do you have a big fat yellow target on your chest?"

"You know why. The symbols intimidate--"

"Why do you smile when some lowlife is screaming, 'How did you do it!'?" He gestured towards the floor. "Why do you have bat symbols painted in places where the bad guys can't even see?" He didn't wait for Bruce's non-answer. "You don't let yourself admit it, Bruce, but you _like_ doing what we do. And I don't think there's anything wrong with that."

He crossed his arms, waiting for Bruce to maybe tell him off again.

Indeed, Bruce folded his own arms and glowered. "So that's your reasoning? You want to keep doing this because it's _fun_?"

Dick sighed. "No. Because it's the right thing to do. Because it feels good to save lives and keep people safe. You can't take that away from me, Bruce. Besides, you need me out there, too. Admit it. How many times have I saved your bacon?"

Bruce looked grim but didn't argue the point.

Someone had interviewed the Flying Graysons once, after a show. _"Aren't you ever afraid you'll fall?"_ the reporter had asked. His mom, sequins sparkling and eyes bright and hair slightly mussed from the performance, had answered, _"Oh, never. Honestly, I'm more at home in the air than on the ground. And if an accident does happen..."_ She'd looked at Dick then, and pulled him closer to her. Dick remembered a flash going off, though the picture they'd eventually used had been a more formal one. _"...the people I love will know that I was doing what I was meant to do."_

"Anyway, I'm not going to stop, just on your say-so." He took a breath and admitted, "I've had a costume and gear stashed at the U since I moved out." Just because he hadn't used it yet didn't mean he couldn't. He'd brought the stuff with him because he'd thought he might need to change fast in an emergency. Dick had learned from the best, after all. Bruce always had stashes at his office and took his gear with him when he travelled.

"Uh-huh." Bruce tapped his fingers on the tabletop. "And what were you planning to do when you needed replacements?"

"I could just get it the usual way, if you'd stop making this so difficult."

"I can lock you out of the cave." Not a threat. Just a statement, looking for an answer. Like the unending tests he'd used to give Dick as a kid.

"Alfred will help me."

"Don't count on that. He's been worried about your safety since we started." Personally, Dick wasn't so sure that was true. Maybe at first, when he was a kid. Nowadays, Dick thought that Alfred liked for the two of them to back each other up.

"I know your contacts." He'd been in charge of repairs and maintenance since he was sixteen. "And I have a trust fund."

Bruce's mouth went even grimmer, if that were possible. "That money's supposed to be for your future."

"What do you think this is?"

"It's all tied up in investments anyway."

"Rewind to the part where I'm eighteen -- and in charge of my own assets. I can get it out."

Bruce got that obstinate look like he did when Dick was winning an argument.

"Face it, Bruce. You're stuck with me."

Sitting back in his chair, very much the CEO, Bruce studied him. For a long time.

Dick waited him out, not worried. Well. Only a little bit. Maybe Bruce couldn't stop him from going out anymore, but he could make things very difficult.

Finally, Bruce nodded. "You'll have to keep your grades up. Nothing below a B+, or you're off patrol again."

Internally, Dick rolled his eyes. He had to admit, it was a good strategy. He'd have to hit the books hard to keep that up, and if he were stuck studying all the time, it'd cut his time 'out on the town' way down. All right. He would let Bruce think he was still in control, since that was what he obviously wanted. "I think I can manage that," he answered breezily. "I'll bet I could swing the honor roll, even."

This time, Bruce smirked. Yeah, he _did_ know Dick's grades. "You do, and I'll throw in a new car. Your pick of make and model."

As it happened, he had been wishing he had something a little snazzier to take the girls out in. But that wasn't the point.

Nothing got Dick's interest up like a challenge.

He calculated quickly. He was three quarters of the way through his first semester, and he'd gotten one A and four B's on his midterms. "It's a deal," he said.

Bruce stood, looking rueful but more or less resigned, as they shook on it.

He beat a hasty retreat then, not wanting Bruce to change his mind.

Besides, he had an essay to rewrite.

***

"Do you know how happy I was to find out you would be in here with me? I even paid for some quality time together. So we could... catch up." McCoy crowded up so close Tony could smell the onions he'd had for dinner. "You left me on the _hook_ for seven thou, you rotten scum. Thanks to you, I couldn't pay back my bookie. And guess what he took for payment instead?" McCoy brandished his empty sleeve.

"Hey. No need to start pointing fingers here." McCoy's look of rage reminded him to amend that to "Or, you know. Come on, I lost a ton of dough, too. Blame it on the Batman, not me. How was I supposed to know I'd have to leave town quick?"

"See, that's what's bothering me. Why on Earth would the Batman come after you? The way I figure it, that's just some line you pulled. Bet you made a bundle out of all us saps."

"Look, you don't know what it was like. Believe me. The Batman, he's _crazy_."

"Oh, you ain't seen crazy yet." He snapped the fingers of his one hand, and suddenly, there were two big guys lumbering in behind him. Tony backed up, wide eyes darting around, looking for a way out. The guys were so massive, barely any light showed around the doorway. McCoy grinned maliciously. "Only the best for you, Sid."

No! Not now. Not when he was about to get free!

He raised his hands in surrender. "Come on, Jonny. We're friends, aren't we? Hey, I'll hook you up--" Jonny glared again. "I mean, I'll connect you with someone who'll give you a sweet deal, okay? You'll make back the seven thou plus interest. Plus interest, I said! Jonny. _Jonny_." He dodged the first swing. "You guys are going to regret this!" The next one took him in the stomach. "Guards!" he gasped. Before he could make a better effort, a hard fist crashed over his skull.

The letter in his hand fell to the ground, forgotten.

***

_"Summer Gleeson, reporting live from Stonegate Prison Complex._

" _Tony Zucco, sentenced just yesterday to life without parole for destruction of private property, illegal gambling, extortion, and two counts of murder in the first degree, was the victim of an assault late last night at Gotham Jail. The perpetrators have not been identified. Mr. Zucco sustained broken bones and a head wound that has given him a case of partial amnesia and aphasia. He is being moved to a secured medical ward, where his condition will be kept under further surveillance. ..."_

 

END.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:  
> [Petty Cash](http://archiveofourown.org/works/526491) (Batman), by kuonji  
> [Of Gods And Men](http://kuonji14.livejournal.com/14757.html) (Stargate SG-1), by kuonji  
> [Shattered Illusions](http://www.angelfire.com/nb/annehiggins/bat/bat1.html) (Batman TAS), by Anne Higgins  
> [The Family Business](http://archiveofourown.org/works/977855?view_full_work=true) (Batman), by BradyGirl_12


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